


"Had worse."

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sort Of, World War II, playful ending, scar adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: The scarred flesh was still new and pink and puffy. It had been a sloppy job, no precision to the cut, the farm boy’s freckled skin mangled and marred in a grotesque fashion, as if he’d caught a shoulder full of shell fragments and not a straight bullet.OR: After Eindhoven, Johnny inspects Bull's new scar.
Relationships: Johnny Martin/Bull Randleman
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	"Had worse."

**Author's Note:**

> a quick little holiday gift for [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk) as part of the DW [in_a_peartree](https://in-a-peartree.dreamwidth.org/) exchange <3
> 
> (also, super un-beta'd. my bad.)

_And, sir, Randleman’s missing, too._

Naturally, Johnny found Bull—after Eindhoven, after Operation Shit Show, after Johnny had seen Bull go down but not get back up, after a night of _not know but praying and dear God, fuck no, please literally anybody else but_ not _him_. 

Alone together in Johnny’s billet, the shorter man nagged Bull to show him the flesh wound so that Johnny could survey the damage for himself. As Bull stripped of his shirt, Johnny had every intention of making light of the situation—maybe give a wolf whistle, crack a joke—, but the sight of the bullet wound dried out his throat, all thoughts of levity crushed instantly. 

He reached out to touch, slowly, dreading what he was seeing. 

“Jesus, that farm girl really fucked you up, huh, Bull?” His voice was quieter than he’d meant.

Johnny studied the fresh scar atop Bull’s shoulder. The scarred flesh was still new and pink and puffy. It had been a sloppy job, no precision to the cut, the farm boy’s freckled skin mangled and marred in a grotesque fashion, as if he’d caught a shoulder full of shell fragments and not a straight bullet.

“It was her paw, actually,” the Arkansas native corrected. 

Johnny felt a flicker of spite at thought that it was someone else—some other man, some goddamn Holland farmer with his fuckin’ pigtail, doe-eyed daughter, that had come to Bull’s aid when he’d needed it most, that it wasn’t Johnny who was there for Bull like he should’a fuckin’ been—, and in his shame, Johnny dug his thumb into the scar, felt a sudden satisfaction twist deep in his gut at the hiss he earned from Bull, and he mumbled, “Bet it didn’t feel too good, huh, Bull?” 

“Aw, it wasn’t too bad.” Bull took a long puff and flicked the ashes from his cigar. He half-shrugged as he mumbled, tossing a glance at Johnny over his shoulder. “Had worse.” 

The farm boy's playful tone jarred Johnny from his more morose musings. A smirk twisted his lips as he gave the taller man’s shoulder a shove. “C’mon, Bull, thought I was the only man got to fuck you up.” 

Bull’s mouth tugged into a wide, toothless grin around the burning cigar. “Aw, it didn’t mean nothin’, Johnny. Honest.” 

Johnny ran his fingers over the scar, let his hand map the new, ragged ridges before his fingertips continued to trail down the dry skin of Bull’s arm. Carding his fingers through Bull’s, Johnny gave the taller man’s hand a squeeze as he rose to his feet. “C’mon, soldier.” Johnny began to unbutton his trousers. “We gotta celebrate you not dying and shit.”


End file.
